


The Bed Story

by That_stupid_girl



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 09:20:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12791523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/That_stupid_girl/pseuds/That_stupid_girl
Summary: She can tie the stages of their relationship—from adamantly just friends to married with children—to the beds they have owned, to the places she has slept next to Chloe.orThe one where Beca's an idiot.





	The Bed Story

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off "The Bed Song" by Amanda Palmer. It's like super exactly the song at the beginning and not so much at the end because it's not as sad I hope, but that's 100% the inspiration for this story. Also, it's like 99.3% not dialogue, and it's not like suuuper happy, but it has a happy ending. It also gets much less good as it goes along lol.

Exhibit A:

 

They are friends in a sleeping bag. It is the night after finals—a night of drinking—and the Bellas are crammed into a cheap hotel room just outside of the city. Aubrey—unwilling to compromise—and Stacie—willing to sleep next to Aubrey—have one queen bed; Jessica and Ashley have the other. Amy has the couch, Cynthia Rose and Denise—in two separate sleeping bags—are by the window, and Lilly is somewhere in a corner, which leaves Beca and Chloe—both out of the room when sleeping spots were claimed—pressed up against each other between purple nylon, their heads resting on Chloe’s pillow.

Their friends are still laughing, still singing acoustic heavy metal Beca’s positive Aubrey shouldn’t know the words to as Stacie’s fingers fumble her ukulele strings. It’s not that Beca and Chloe don’t want to join them, it’s more that they’re not sure they’ll be able to get back into this sleeping bag once they get out. Besides, they’ve got their own vodka and their own champagne and it’s soft and dark and warm in their corner, just separate enough to blur the laughter and the lyrics.

Chloe shifts, pulling Beca’s body against her front; they’d be spooning if they had more space, but as it is they are more sardines than silverware. Beca feels the smooth skin of Chloe’s bare legs against her own, relaxes into the warmth Chloe radiates, and reminds herself of Jesse. Chloe, who is a sappy drunk, presses a kiss just above Beca’s ear and leaves her head there, lips in Beca’s hair as they whisper drunk nothings.

“You saved us, you know,” Chloe tells her, hot breath against Beca’s skin; it’s slurred and soft enough that Beca can barely understand her. “Couldn’t have even come close without you.” Beca feels her face heat up as she squirms, succeeding in nothing but moving even closer to Chloe.

“Weirdo,” she mutters back. Chloe giggles; the sound tickles something in Beca’s chest.

They talk about music, mostly, but also school, family, and more music as the others slowly wind down. Beca can hear Aubrey complaining about the continued noise at this point, which means it must be getting late. Like, close to sunrise late. Stacie drops her ukulele and someone swears at the muffled clang it makes against the carpet. There’s another swell of laughter and then the lights flip off.

“I failed Russian lit,” Chloe tells her almost twenty minutes later, sounding more sober than she has all night.

“What?”

“I failed Russian lit. I have to repeat my senior year,” Chloe says.

“Chloe,” Beca begins, attempting to turn over to look at Chloe. “Why would you—” Someone shushes them from across the room. Beca just gapes.

“Here,” Chloe sighs. Beca hears the sound of a zipper and feels a rush of cold air as Chloe peels the sleeping bag off of them. She stands up, motioning for Beca to follow her. Beca stumbles after Chloe, wincing at the bright light of the hallway as Chloe cracks the door open. They slip out of the room and Beca follows Chloe down three flights of stairs.

When they get to the pool, Chloe checks for cameras. Beca’s still wary, but she’s already been arrested now and she’s too drunk to really consider any repercussions. When Chloe determines that the coast is clear, she catapults herself over the metal fence. Beca watches her long legs flail to find footing and gulps; Chloe Beale is going to be the death of her, no doubt about it.

“C’mon, Becs,” Chloe shouts—a little too loudly—from the other side of the fence. Beca takes a deep breath and hoists herself up over the gate, completing the task much more gracefully than the older girl.

Chloe doesn’t actually get into the water, thank god. They sit together on a pool chair, still whispering but with no chance of being overheard. Chloe explains failing Russian lit and not wanting to leave; Beca takes none of it in.

And then, suddenly, she is kissing Chloe, who is not Jesse but who is kissing her back without question, who is pushing Beca back against the pool chair, who is climbing on top of Beca as she winds her fingers in her hair. Beca knows this is wrong, knows Jesse is in his own hotel with his own acapella group and is not kissing any single one of them right now, but then again, Beca’s never really been able to think of Jesse when Chloe’s around, anyway.

Chloe grinds her hips down against Beca’s and Beca moans, sort-of-boyfriend be damned. And then Chloe is flinging her shirt aside and she is in front of Beca, braless, and all Beca can do is stare as her hands map Chloe’s bare skin. And then Chloe’s fingers are sliding below the waistband of Beca’s shorts and Beca is gasping. And then she is coming. And then she is eating Chloe out on a plastic pool chair.

Beca is nineteen years old and has never had sex with a girl before, has never let herself imagine what  ~~Chloe~~ a girl would feel like under her. It is more than she could have hoped for. They both come three times before they sneak back upstairs; Beca feels dirty but she can’t bring herself to care.

They don’t talk about it in the morning. When they get back, Beca kisses Jesse and Chloe locks herself in her room for two days.

 

Exhibit B:

 

They find an apartment together after they graduate. Even with the awkward aftermath of drunken sex throughout Beca’s entire college career, they’re still best friends, and they both still want to live in California. Beca knows Los Angelos isn’t cheap—and by that she means it’s fucking expensive—but the thought of owning an apartment with Chloe makes her stomach flutter in a way she’d rather not think about.

They spend almost a month religiously searching the internet for apartments before they find a place somewhat within their price range and in an accessible location. It’s not even five hundred square feet and comes with no furniture, dishwasher, or washing machine, but it’s only $1,100 and within “walking distance” from both Chloe’s school and the studio where Beca has a job lined up. It’s also pet friendly, which means pretty much nothing since Beca’s allergic to dogs, Chloe’s allergic to cats, and they’ll be gone most of the day.

Chloe’s parents donate a microwave, Beca’s dad gives them an old futon, and they see a sofa on the side of the highway in Nevada that only looks a little suspicious, so by the time they actually get to L.A. they have two and a half pieces of furniture, plus the provided fridge and stove.

It takes a lot of effort for the two small women to haul the futon and couch upstairs, but the work is made easier by the fact that they ~~have~~ are renting their very own apartment in L.A. They drink cheap champagne that night to celebrate, and when they fall into ~~bed~~ futon together Beca is sober enough to see that Chloe is pretty damn sober, too. It’s the first time they’ve done this since Beca’s broken up with Jesse, and it feels like it means something more. It rattles something deep inside Beca, and when she wakes up the next morning she remembers for the first time the look of adoration in Chloe’s eyes; Beca feels like her ribs are too tight. She can’t deal with this right now. She doesn’t wake Chloe up before she leaves for her first day of work, and texts her later to say she’s eating at the office.

When she comes home late that evening, there’s a piece of paper taped to their door that has, “Don’t want to embarrass you, but you should know that the floors are very thin! –Your Downstairs Neighbor” scrawled on it in blue Sharpie. Beca’s face flushes. She takes the note off the door and doesn’t show it to Chloe, who’s already in bed. She has the blanket wrapped around her, so Beca takes the sheet, pulling it toward her side of the bed and ignoring the hollow of her chest as she thinks that they probably won’t be bothering the downstairs neighbors anytime soon.

In the time before Chloe goes back to school, she collects materials (namely old milk crates and pallets) with which to construct furniture. With just garbage wood, a lot of duct tape, and Target tablecloths, she makes two amazing bedside tables, a pretty decent coffee table, an acceptable dining table, and some not entirely horrible chairs. Beca’s laugh when she comes home to the finished furniture is the best sound Chloe’s heard in weeks.

They eat Indian food at their new coffee table that night as The Office plays on Beca’s laptop. Beca’s heart pounds as they climb into bed—actually together for the first time since the first night—and she thinks that she could maybe actually do this, could maybe actually hold Chloe sober, kiss her and stand by it, but Chloe turns away from her—turns cold—before she gets the chance, pulling the blanket with her as usual. Beca can’t bring herself to ask Chloe what’s wrong; she’s too afraid she knows what the answer will be.

 

Exhibit C:

 

A few years later they move into a much nicer, much more private—but still one bedroom—apartment in Seattle. It’s expensive, but Beca’s already making a hell of a lot as a budding producer and Chloe, though her job as a fourth grade teacher doesn’t pay much, is no longer actively spending money on her own schooling. Beca plans to pay the majority of the rent, and even through the superficial happiness Chloe’s worn through grad school, a boyfriend, a girlfriend (which is a shock to Beca but not, apparently, to anyone else), and another two boyfriends, Beca can see that it bothers her.

Still, she’s surprised when she comes home from work and walks into the bedroom to find Chloe standing at the foot of a king sized bed, made up with nicer sheets than Beca’s ever owned. Chloe doesn’t look up as Beca comes to stand beside her, heart pounding at the sight of this entirely too domestic bed that she wants entirely too much; she wraps her arms around herself just in case she needs to muffle the heavy beating of her heart.

Chloe still won’t look at her, and Beca, sad as it is, can’t bring herself to be surprised by that. And Beca can’t blame her for it; she knows she’s been awful. Beca’s own cheating on Jesse and then on Bradley aside, every time Chloe’s seemed to be falling in love with whomever she’s dating, Beca starts leading her on until they ~~fuck~~ ~~make love~~ sleep together once after the break up and Beca clams up like the coward she is.

Chloe suddenly brushes past her, moving to straighten out nonexistent wrinkles in the covers. Beca lets herself truly think, for the first time, that she loves this woman, that she is in love with this woman. But Chloe is dating someone again, an accountant/amateur baseball player named Mark, and Beca knows she’ll chicken out in the end, anyway.

Beca takes a deep breath.

“It looks great, Chlo,” she offers.

“The best mattress I could afford,” Chloe says. “All the money in the world won’t buy a bed big enough to guarantee you won’t accidentally touch me in the night, though. Sorry,” she adds, half muttered and half crystal clear. Beca’s heart falls out of her chest, but she deserves that. Still, she can’t bring herself to fix it.

 

Exhibit D:

 

Beca thinks about making an honest to god, real move on Chloe for months, then Chloe breaks up with Mark and Beca finds herself paralyzed with fear. She can’t ask Chloe to feel what she has forced her to push down for eight years, but it is the anniversary of the night the Bella’s won finals and Beca can think of nothing else but Chloe, giggling drunk, Chloe, writhing underneath her, Chloe, pressed warm against her. She knows Chloe must be thinking of the same night; she’s been quiet all day.

Chloe flips off the light as Beca places her glasses on the real, non-milk crate bedside table. She feels Chloe climb into bed beside her. She feels her turn away. She feels her heart snap as she hears Chloe take a deep shuddering breath, holding back king-size tears like Beca knows she’s done for years. Beca bites her lip, breathes in to steady herself, and pushes her body toward Chloe. She feels Chloe seize up as Beca wraps her arms around her, pulling her against her chest. Chloe bites down on her lip, shaking as she tries to keep her tears at bay.

“I’m so sorry,” Beca soothes, running her hands along Chloe’s arms.

“Beca,” Chloe starts, voice wavering. “I can’t do this again.”

“I know. I know, but I’m in this time. I’m in love with you, actually, and I want to do this. For real. I won’t back out.” She can tell Chloe doesn’t believe her, but she also lets Beca hold her, singing softly, until she falls asleep.

 

Exhibit E:

 

They move back to Georgia after they get married. As it turns out, Chloe can’t stand being out of the south for too long, and Atlanta is as good a city for Beca’s music as any. They buy a new house, pick out new furniture and move their old bed in together. 

They are both sober when they go to bed the first night, both sober as Beca pulls Chloe into her, both sober as they strip each other of their clothes, and both sober as Beca kisses every inch of Chloe’s body—the hollow of her collarbones, the soft skin of her breasts, the curve of her barely-pregnant belly—because this woman—this wonderful woman—waited years for Beca to get over her own stubbornness (and fear), and Beca loves her. She loves her more than she ever let herself hope she would love anyone.

That night, she falls asleep, finally facing the woman she loves.


End file.
